kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"WrongApril"

words

"Excuse me, sir, are you... April Wiggins?"

"Who's asking? What's it to you?" The little mousy man tried to play tough. The men in black were not amused. They were paid quite considerable sums to be not amused. It amused them to be not amused.

"Arright, boys, rope 'im and ground 'im."

"Wait, wait, what is this? What are you --" He was clubbed over the back of the head quicker than a baby seal, and fell down just as lumpily; just as dead.

"Ah, shit." Stonefaced but upset. Disappointed in his boys. "Now, listen, what have I told you about clubbing weaklings?"

"Uh... use a number 2?"

"And...?"

"Tap?"

"Right. It's in the wrist. And what did you do?"

"Uh.... it was a number 4."

"And you swung it with your entire arm."

"Sorry, sir."

"Right, then. Go grab that other guy by the copier. We've got to have someone to interrogate, top brass won't know one from another. In any case, these new truth drugs will drag the truth from just about anyone, regardless of whether they know it or not."

"Yes, sir." The second-in-gruntness walked over to the copier with the rest of the formally attired goons. "Excuse me, are you April Wiggins?"

"No, he's... I don't see him at the moment, probably in the bathroom. What can I do for you?"

Mumbling, barely intelligible, "In the wrist, a number two and just use the wrist," nodding to himself...

"What's that? Are you allright? Hey, Joe, call a para, I think this guy's having a seizure!"

The goon shook his head, clearing it of the threads of thought that had been clogging it, pulled out his number two club and tapped the guy on the head. He nodded to himself, smiling, as the guy fell to the floor still breathing.

"Good, very good. Very well. Let's go. Hut hut hut!" They quickly waltzed out of the building, unnoticed, with a final bit of swing as they hopped into the unmarked van.